Memories Lost in Blood
by mendedpixie
Summary: Erik is a French spy in WWI until he is disfigured by shrapnel. Christine Daae is a young nurse who finds him, suffering from grief and depression. But the disfigured spy isn't who anyone thinks he is, including himself.
1. Chapter 1

There was a large explosion nearby, but Christine was lucky enough not to have gotten hit by any shrapnel during the blast. However, she heard screams close by. She scrambled up from her hiding place, grabbed her medical kit, and headed toward where the explosion had gone off. A few yards away, in an open area of the field, she found a man lying on the ground. He was still conscious, but writhing in agony, blood pouring from his face. His face was the only part of him that was injured it seemed, but badly so. When Christine approached, he tried to keep quiet, but was half out of his mind in pain, emitting strangled half shrieks and gurgles periodically. Christine saw his German uniform, and was going to run back to safety and leave him. But as she began to turn from him, the man grabbed the hem of her uniform and started gurgling out broken phrases in perfect French.

"Spy, I'm a French spy! Please! The commanding officer knows…knows…" he gurgled, spit up blood, and then gasped for control. "My codename is _Le Fantôme, Le Fa –"_ he was overcome by pain, and couldn't speak any more.

Every Frenchman on the western front knew about the ruthless spy _Le Fantôme_. There were rumors as to what he looked like, but few ever saw him; therefore none were correct. He was known for strangling his victims, but never with his hands. He always used some sort of wire, to half strangle, half decapitate his victims. However, The Phantom was not unaccustomed to shooting a person when needed either, but he never used a weapon of his own. What many found most frightening was that no matter the methods used, there were never any fingerprints at the scenes of the killings. All in all, the French government was extremely thankful that he was on their side, and not the enemy's.

The injured man who lay at Christine's feet, choking on his blood, was the last image Christine could have of the so called Phantom; but there was no time to debate. Despite the young medic's better judgement, Christine picked up the wounded spy and slung one of his arms around her shoulders and supported him by the waist. "Listen! Listen to me!" she hissed. "You can walk, it's just your face. Walk!" At first stumbling, but then making their way swiftly along the field, the medic and the spy made it to safety relatively unscathed.

Once away from direct French and German fire, Christine cleaned the blood off of the man's face (or what was left of it), stopped as much of the bleeding as she could, and bandaged him up.

Needing less coaxing this time, Christine and The Phantom stumbled back to where the commanding officer was. When others saw the German uniform the injured man was wearing, the atmosphere changed to anger, but they finally reached their commander, who began to scold the young nurse, they were interrupted by the slurred words of the injured man. They stopped, and upon hearing him repeat what they realized was a numbered code, the commanding officer turned white.

"E-Excuse me, yes, I will call right away. Please excuse my rudeness," the commander said. He rushed off to a radio, and stayed there for several minutes. He returned, and in a rush, announced that the man, now confirmed as The Phantom, was ushered off to a nearby hospital. Christine asked her superiors if she needed to stay or if she needed to go with the spy. Her commanding officers gave her orders to go with him, along with two other men who would be on guard at the hospital. The only other instruction she was given was to refer to him as 'Erik.', and to speak to no one, not even the guards, about the events of that night.

Once the arrived at the hospital, Erik was ushered into surgery. Christine had been told to wait by an empty bed, and told further that her duty to change his bandages and look after him specifically, and no one else. She was the only one in the hospital who knew his identity, and the military higher-ups intended to keep it that way.

He woke up late the next day. His face was heavily bandaged, his eyes and mouth visible. He tensed for a moment, but upon looking at Christine, relaxed. Christine noted his eyes were a nondescript blue, but his gaze sharp and cat like.

"Are you the nurse from the front?" he asked.

Christine paused. "Yes. My name is Christine Daae. I will be taking care of you until further notice." She gave him a look that said she also knew who he was, but not to say anything.

The spy understood, and said very carefully. "I'm afraid I don't remember my name. Do you know what my name is?"

Christine responded smoothly. "The report says that your name is Erik, but we're unsure of your last name at this time."

Erik nodded, and kept a mental note on his current name. He paused. He knew _why_ he was injured. He was found out, and was given the choice to walk towards a gun or towards the French line in his German uniform, with no weapons. He chose the latter, hoping he would survive. His choice saved him, but at what cost, he didn't know. He had little idea what his injury is, except that his face hurt, and he couldn't see out of one eye.

"What happened?" he asked, weakly bringing a thin hand towards his bandaged face.

Christine grabbed his hand gently. "Don't touch it. You were hit in the face by shrapnel."

"Give me specifics," he asked sternly.

Christine stopped, and hesitant to tell him.

"Tell me," his voice no more than a whisper.

She took a breath, and bluntly stated, "There is heavy scarring, especially under your right cheekbone, where you are missing a good amount of tissue. Your nostrils and a part of your nasal septum are gone, though you will still be able breath fine. There is fine scarring around the rest of your face. You're blind in one eye, but that may only be temporary. We're unsure yet." She looked up at him and said quietly, "I'm sorry."

Erik was silent for a moment. His only response was, "I see." He was quiet again after that. Christine thought he'd fallen asleep, until she looked and saw his shoulders shaking, one hand grasping the bed sheet. She heard a small sob and realized he was crying.

Christine leaned towards him. "Are you in pain? Can I bring you anything?"

Erik quietly choked out, "No. I'm fine."

The fiercest spy in France was crying, and all Christine could do was hold his hand.


	2. Chapter 2

Both the medic and the spy assumed correctly that his career was over. A spy had to be able to blend in well with his surroundings, and with a facial disfigurement, that was now impossible. However, it would give him a greater chance of being recognized by any Germans he had previously worked with.

Christine mentioned different doctors who were performing facial reconstruction surgeries to men who were disfigured in the war, specifically a doctor in New Zealand. She asked Erik to think on it, but he quickly decided against it.

Despite how gruesome his face looked, Erik's injuries were not as bad as many others, who had lost jaws and worse. The gash in his right cheek wasn't as bad as originally thought, and though it would leave horrible scarring, the wound would heal enough for his jaw and mouth to be functional. His nose was practically gone except for the top of the ethmoid bone, which, with his thin frame and already deep set eyes, gave him a skeletal appearance. Erik found this ironic as his codename was once "The Phantom". But even then he didn't want the surgery. It was known to be long and painful, leaving the patient looking worse half way through the surgery due to parts of the face being connected by new flesh to the neck or arm.

Thankfully there were medical masks available to those with facial deformities, and prosthetics for those with missing noses and even cheeks, mouths, or jaws. They could be painted to look realistic, but Erik wasn't sure if realism to his old face was such a good idea.

His main reason to forgo surgery, and even perhaps a realistic mask, was anonymity. No one who had seen face when he was a spy would be able to recognize him now. His face would leave him isolated and haunted, but alive.

Over a period of weeks, Christine and Erik discussed topics other than the former spy's recovery options. They got to know one another…or rather, Erik got to know Christine. Erik could not mention himself much at all, for the French government and his own protection.

However, they both acknowledged that they were solitary people. Erik, for reasons not discussed, and Christine for her tragic past.

She had lived alone with her father, who was a musician, for many years but was orphaned at age 12. She was taken in by her godparents, the Valerius'.

"She's not in good health however," Christine said. "She's suffering from the memory loss. Alzheimer's, I think they're calling it now."

Erik was solemn. "I'm terribly sorry."

"It's alright," she replied with a forced laugh. "She's who inspired me to study medicine. Even if I can't help her, I can help other people."

After a long pause, Erik asked, "Forgive my rudeness, but surely you have friends? Other relatives, or a fiancé to help you in your care for your foster mother, perhaps? You…you are a wonderful person, I do not imagine you being friendless." He paused. "I am sorry, I'm sure you do not want compliments from a deformed patient."

Christine blushed. "It's alright. Thank you, Erik." She smiled sadly. "I did have a fiancé, but no friends. I was rather isolated. But…he…he and I were close friends as children one summer, and we reconnected after many years, and fell in love. He was my best friend. However, my hus…my fiancé….his family did not approve of us, but he and I were determined to marry. His family disowned him. He lost everything, his family, his wealth, for me. I was quite upset with him at first!" she laughed, and then sobered. "I was still with Mama Valerius, but my fiancé now had to find a way to support us once we married." She paused. "And then, right on time, the draft came. We promised to marry when he came home."

There was a silence. "He didn't come home, did he?" Erik said quietly.

"No."

"Christine, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have ask -"

"Don't be. It's good to talk about him. If it weren't for him being drafted, I wouldn't have come here, and I wouldn't have been able to help you, or anyone else. I think he would be happy that I'm helping others. I'm happy to be able to send a few husbands back to their wives, sons back to their parents. I don't want to pretend he didn't exist."

"What was his name? Your fiancé."

Christine looked up, her face calm, but tears evident on her face.

"Raoul. Raoul de Chagny."


	3. Chapter 3

A week ago, one of Erik's commanding officers had come to talk to both of them. He had given them boundaries of what he and his caretaker could talk about safely. Topics related to Erik's work or career were forbidden, but he had consented on behalf of the French government that he could talk about all legitimate instances of his past, which were few and far between. Christine could now learn a little about her patient. Though none of the exciting parts, she thought with a little mirth.

Before the officer left, he said to Erik and Christine, "We're never sure about these things, but rumors are spreading that both sides are thinking about peace talks. I hope to God it happens." And with that, he left.

Christine and Erik looked at one another, shock and a hint of hope crossing their faces. The thought of peace was both wonderful and terrifying for them, especially Erik. Combat, violence, death, blood…these had been their lives for what seemed an eternity. The thought of civilian life and peace seemed so foreign. They said nothing.

Later that night, as Christine slept, Erik laid awake in bed. For the first time in ages, he actually wanted to talk to someone about his past.

Unlike Christine, Erik had been born into violence. He came from a poor background and an abusive household. When he was young, he became a messenger for very unsavory sorts. He learned how to listen in on conversations, and how to ignore them. He also taught himself the fine art of vocal imitation, which got him into and helped him escape dangerous situations. He spent most of his time away from home, and earned his money by thievery. Whenever he did go home, he suffered horrible violence at the hands of his father.

He left his family and the small town he was born in when he was thirteen. He continued to work for dangerous sorts, with relative success. By the time he was fifteen, he was well on his way to becoming an unsavory sort of person himself. He had taught himself the fine art of hand to hand combat, and had seriously injured quite a few people and almost killed a couple more. He didn't have a name anymore, and didn't care to have one. He was used, and hurt and stole from those who used him in return.

However, when he was seventeen, he'd become disillusioned with his criminal activity, and disgusted by humanity. For his own survival, he still stole food from restaurants, bakeries, and houses. He was fortunate enough to have robbed the house of an Italian immigrant, who was a professional architect. Instead of handing him over to the authorities, he offered the boy an apprenticeship as an architect; room, board, food and all if he would stop stealing. The boy agreed.

The architect thought of the boy as an adopted son, and called him 'uccello', or 'bird' in Italian, because the boy had a beautiful singing and speaking voice. In his spare time, the architect taught 'Uccello' violin, and soon he was a better musician than his master. His life settled down, and he learned love and trust under the care of the old architect.

By the time he was 21, Uccello had become an excellent architect himself. But then the war and the draft came. The architect was afraid that fighting in the war would send his Uccello back to where he was before: a thief and possible murderer. But there was no choice. The young man enlisted with his old name and left.

He fared well in his training, and all of his previous experience in fighting came back to him, and was improved upon in training. He was offered the dangerous job of spying, and accepted. He tossed his birth name aside yet again. He learned and became fluent in German, and began his assignments. He was skilled and ruthless, and killed enemies quickly, quietly, and without mercy. He could escape tight situations quickly, which helped inspire his codename.

His commanding officers always told him how his past would serve him well in his career.

But on his last assignment he'd made a small, stupid mistake. When he was behind enemy lines he tripped and quietly cursed. In French.

Hence where he was now. He considered the people who had caught him idiots for not simply shooting him in the head. They had been sadistic, and that was his luck.

He sighed. Since he'd had very little identity before the war, he hoped it would be easy to create a new, if not isolated, life for himself now that his spying career was over. He didn't want to go back to criminal activity again…not after his time with the man he considered his father. Perhaps he could be an architect again, but work where he wouldn't bother people with his appearance.

 _I doubt my father is alive anymore_ , he thought with a pang of grief. The architect was in poor health when Erik was drafted. He had been suffering from worsening lung problems. He reflected that the last sound he heard from him as he left was a sickening cough.

Erik realized that this man had taught him that it was alright to cry, to feel…and that human contact could be loving and kind. He'd not known true kindness before he had met him, and the thought of his father being dead was too much. There was also the pang of something else lost, that he could not remember, which made the grief all the more bitter.

Christine woke up to the sound of Erik crying softly. Her first action was always to check if Erik needed anything or was in any pain.

"No, no. I'm sorry to wake you. I was just…remembering the past," he choked out. "I'm sorry, I'm usually much more composed than this."

Christine scooted her chair closer. "It's all right. You've been through a lot. Can you talk about it?"

Erik slowed his breathing, and after a last shaky breath, responded. "Yes, actually."

"Alright," Christine said. "Do you wish to talk about it?"

He sighed. "Help me sit up."

Christine got few extra pillows, and Erik propped himself up. "I came from a poor background, but I eventually found an apprenticeship with an architect. I consider him my father, and he miraculously considered me his son. I was remembering his kindness towards me." he paused and turned his bandaged face towards Christine. "He was in poor health when I was drafted, and I am afraid he's dead now." Strangely, he felt like he was lying.

Christine clasped his hands, a pitying expression on her face. "I'm sorry, Erik. Don't give up hope, though. He might still be alive."

Erik shuddered at her touch, but said nothing and leaned his head back slightly. "Do you believe in God, Christine?"

"Yes, very much so," she responded quickly.

"I've never been sure. If he's gone, do you think it's possible he's somehow watching?"

"Of course I do. If he was so good to you, I'm sure he is with God."

Erik nodded. "It's a good thought."

Christine rubbed his hand gently with her thumb for a few minutes in silence before she asked, "Can you sleep?"

"Yes, I think so. Go back to sleep."

She laid Erik back down upon his request. "I'm here if you need anything," Christine reminded him as she leaned back in her chair.

Erik stayed awake in bed for a while longer before sleeping. He'd grown very fond of Christine in the past month or so. He sympathized with her, and was truly sorry for the loss of her fiancé. Erik felt like he knew the man through her.

He felt like he'd known the young nurse for much longer than a month. She was extremely strong and compassionate, while also being honest to the point of bluntness. He worried though that she was the type of person who acted strong when in fact they were quite fragile in one way or another. But perhaps all people were like that. It seemed he was like that as well.

He wondered briefly what she had looked like before her time as a nurse, before Raoul had died, if she was happier. He could almost imagine her face…

He wondered if she would leave after he'd recovered from his injuries.

 _Of course she will you fool. She'll go back to her duties, and you'll go home, and that will be it._

He told himself it was a ridiculous thought. She would not choose to be saddled with a disfigured man her whole life, and he would be able to take care of himself soon enough anyway. He knew he shouldn't be thinking about a young widow in such familiar terms anyway.

But he wished things were different. And he wished he weren't falling in love.


	4. Chapter 4

As the days past, and Christine watched over her patient, her thoughts wandered through dark passages. Her past, her thoughts throughout the war, her concerns over her current situation.

"The Phantom" wasn't the only one hiding secrets.

Perhaps not secrets as dangerous or important as those harbored by her disfigured ward, but secrets nonetheless. While she and Erik were restricted from telling one another much of each other, due to Erik's line of work, she had spoken about her fiancé. But sitting in the chair next to Erik's cot, she realized that she had withheld a very important aspect of her life…

…And the consequences of her terminated engagement to Raoul de Chagny.

She had told Erik that she had become a medic because she wanted to save lives, and she knew it would honor the memory of her beloved. However, she realized, or admitted to herself, that that was not entirely the case.

When news had come of Raoul's death, Christine had lost almost everything. Her fiancé, her best friend, her future…all she had was an ailing guardian who could hardly recognize her anymore. Everything was slipping from her fingers.

She had neglected to tell Erik of her poverty stricken childhood, and of her father. Before she met Raoul, she and her father were penniless, and at times homeless, until the Valerius' had come into her life, and soon after Raoul. Christine remember her childhood days as an ascension from hell to heaven, from poverty and destruction to happiness and creation…but it had not lasted long. Soon, her father was struck with the flu, and her kind but melancholy Papa wasted away before Christine's young eyes. She had aged by the time he finally died, no longer a child in mind, but a somber adult. Not long after her father's death, the elderly man who had taken Christine and her father under his wing, Professor Valerius, passed away also. And finally, her last family member began to waste away too, but in mind, instead of body. She felt that Raoul was her lifeline, her one happiness left in life, despite the strife their class difference created.

But then, he was snatched from her as well. Christine felt as if she was made of death from head to foot, that it wasn't a young lady who had loved so few so fiercely, but a corpse who had loved and adored the living….

She had lied to Erik when she said she wished to send sons back to their mothers, husbands back to their wives…

She had chosen to be a front line medic to die.

Christine closed her eyes, ashamed of her cowardice. She had told herself from the beginning that she wished to be of service, to help, but now sitting awake while Erik slept, she realized she had chosen one of the most dangerous positions for a young nurse to take because she had wanted to join Raoul in death as soon as possible.

She wondered now, what Erik would think of her if he knew. She wondered why she cared about this former spy's opinion. She was simply his nurse until the war was over.

The thought terrified her.

Christine hardly knew the man lying asleep, face destroyed by shrapnel. She was not allowed to know him well, and yet she felt like she'd known him for much longer. All of the sudden, the thought of being separated from someone she ridiculously thought of as a friend was unbearable. She was never going to see him again after the war, and the thought of her existence after this was miserable. She would work at a hospital, or some other establishment, and care for Mama Valerius until…

Why? Why had Christine finally found solace in a destroyed man she could never know anything about?

Suddenly she gasped. Two emaciated hands had quietly brushed the tears that had recklessly creeped out her eyes in a movement eerily familiar to her.

She realized that while on the French side, her seemingly gentle patient was a fierce killer. Did she want to know of his past horrors?


	5. Chapter 5

Erik realized his mistake too late, and upon hearing the young nurse's gasp and witnessing the growing horror on her face, he snatched his hands away.

He'd touched her without her consent. Suddenly images of the horrors his fellow soldiers, German and French, had committed against innocent civilian women and children flashed through his mind, and he felt sick. "Forgive me!" he whispered.

Christine watched Erik cower before her, and her anxious mind cleared, and she realized her reaction. She didn't touch him, not knowing how he would react in a panic. "No, Erik, it's fine. You did nothing wrong, you just surprised me is all. Don't…don't be afraid. You just surprised me." What was causing a reaction like this? How did a man who cowered after brushing away tears work as a spy?

Erik could feel the confusion in the air, and tried to calm himself in order to explain. _Remember your training, you fool._ He took a moment to breath, and was able to reply fairly calmly. "Forgive me. I awoke and saw you crying, and was…concerned."

Christine sighed. "It's alright. I understand what you were trying to do. I'm sorry I worried you. I'm supposed to be taking care of you, not the other way around."

He looked at Christine, a firm look in his eyes. "You're allowed to feel. I do not matter in that sense…this…all of this…has been difficult for everyone. Not just you."

There was a small silence, and then Erik continued more calmly. "Do…do wish to speak about what was bothering you?"

Christine tensed. She knew it seemed childish, but she didn't wish to share such a dark part of herself when she could learn so little of Erik. "No…I was…I just realized a few things about myself is all. I'll be fine. Thank you though, Erik."

Erik finally looked at Christine. "I won't pressure you, but if there is a reason you can't, or won't, are you allowed to tell me?"

Christine whipped her head from her lap to Erik. She then relaxed, a small, sad smile crossing her lips. "Are you sure you don't read minds, Erik?"

"I don't believe so," he said with shy mirth.

Christine chuckled. "Alright, well, yes, in a sense. It's quite childish if you will forgive me in advance." She took a nervous breath. "While I consider us friends, I'm…hesitant to share my inner most thoughts with you, because you cannot share so many of yours. I know it isn't fair of me to say, but it's honestly I how I feel, Erik, and…forgive me," she sighed finally.

Erik's head was bent down, and he nodded. "I understand. There are some things we can't easily share, for whatever reasons." He looked up, and Christine noticed hesitation and confusion in his eyes.

They were both silent for a few awkward moments.

"Do you wish to sleep?" Christine asked.

"Not particularly. Do you?" he replied.

"No…I supposed we could change you bandages. It's been long enough that you might not need them for much longer."

Erik consented to this, and Christine began to carefully unwind the bandages from Erik's face and head. Christine had always noted Erik's ink black hair, but and she was unwinding the cloth from his head, she noticed lighter hairs intermingled with the black. Blond, or perhaps more likely white.

"Erik, may I ask how old you are?" she asked cautiously.

"Not very. I believe I'm only in my 20s."

"Oh. I just noticed you have some lighter hair among your dark hair."

"Oh. Yes, I've been noticing it as well…I remember I was required to dye it…" Erik was telling the truth, but he felt like he was lying, or omitting something. He'd had that feeling around Christine since they had met and gotten to know one another. In every small detail of his life that he was able to tell her, and even when thinking of his own more detailed memories, he felt like he was remembering and forgetting all at once. But remembering and forgetting what? He didn't know.

Christine continued to unwind the bandages, until they were finally gone.

His face had healed as best as it could considering the situation. There would always be twisted scarring in the hollow of Erik's cheek, and fine white scars all around his face. However, the damage was much less than what everyone had feared. Erik was enormously lucky.

While still skeletal in appearance with the missing nose, Christine noticed that since staying at the hospital, Erik had gained weight. While still slender, Christine realized that much of his figure must have been due to lack of food more than a natural figure. His eyes were less sunken than before, and she noticed again that they were blue.

Blue…

A feeling of dread tugged at Christine.

"Erik, you've spoken to me about yourself in very uncertain terms at times…such as now. You said you believe you are in your twenties…do – do you not know?"

Erik was silent. He'd noticed his lapse in memory at times, and had briefly brought it up to his commanding officers early in his career, fearing it would affect his work. He was told it wasn't a problem, and to continue with his assignments. The doctor's assigned to him always cleared him for duty, and the memory lapses never affected his work, because he was always someone else, someone different than who he was. It didn't matter if he couldn't remember exactly who he really was.

But why _didn't_ it matter?

He looked at Christine, worry etched on his face. "I – I don't know. I don't remember. I never have, I just never thought…I was always told it didn't matter, I –" he stopped. He shouldn't tell her any of his fears, because if the government found out…but he had to. He trusted her, and something inside was insisting that he tell her what had been eating away at him his entire career. "Christine, do you ever feel like, who you are is a lie? That memories, what you believe is truth, isn't?"

Christine felt anxiety rising in her chest, but she didn't know why. "Erik, I –"

He rambled on, becoming distraught, "Christine, I remember things, my childhood, abuse, a man I fear is dead, a nickname, but I don't remember my name, my age, my family's name, my father's name…but I know you, I know I have for so long, but everything, everything is feeling like a lie and I don't – " he continued incoherently.

Christine had seen confusion cross over Erik's face a times, but had never seen him so panicked nor so willing to speak. She feared if he continued speaking in such honest panic, he would divulge information that would find them in trouble. She remembered the warnings to keep conversation limited. She grabbed his hand, "Erik, it's alright, you must calm down, remember what we were told, we can't speak about certain –"

"Lottie, _I don't know who I am._ "

Christine's face paled, and she dropped his hand as if burned.

"What did you call me?"


	6. Chapter 6

**1915:**

 _Raoul De Chagny nervously reported to headquarters in the late evening. He'd been a lower rank infantry man since the beginning of France's involvement in the war, and while he had not moved up in rank, had survived longer than many French infantrymen in the Great War. He'd stayed rather nondescript in his regiment aside from being reliable and trustworthy. Why he had been called into headquarters, and been ordered to tell no one of this meeting was beyond him._

 _He was called in._

 _Two men waited for him. A man of clear high rank, and a man out of uniform, seemingly a doctor._

 _"_ _De Chagny!" the officer said cheerfully. Too cheerfully, Raoul thought. "Good to meet you. My sincerest apologies for the sudden calling, but we wanted to give the news as soon as possible."_

 _Raoul frowned. "News, sir?"_

 _"_ _You've been promoted, by Clemenceau himself."_

 _The young infantryman started. "Promoted by the Prime Minister?" What is going on? "May I ask what position I've been honored with?"_

 _The officer nodded briefly to the doctor standing behind him, and he approached Raoul quickly as something flashed in his hand. "Human weapon."_

 _"_ _Wh –" but before Raoul could finish he felt a sharp pain in his thigh and collapsed. His last thoughts before he blacked out were of his fiancé waiting back home for him._

 _The Doctor and the officer looked at the collapsed man on the floor in front of them. "Will he do, you think?" The officer asked._

 _"_ _We've been observing him for months. He's the perfect candidate for replacement, a black slate except for the fiancé…" the doctor replied._

 _"_ _Don't worry about that sir," the officer replied. "As far as she knows, De Chagny died in the line of duty four months ago."_

* * *

 **1917:**

"It can't be. It's not possible. He's dead."

Christine was fighting down the quickly rising panic in her chest. Flashbacks of her time with Raoul raced through her mind. Kisses, tears, a red scarf, a newly pressed uniform, funeral attire…

Lottie. No one ever called her that except Raoul. Not even her father called her that name. _His light colored roots, blue eyes, his movements and gestures, Lottie, Lottie, Lottie…No!_

Christine was suddenly pulled out of her memories by her patient's sobs. He was sitting up, curled in on himself, hands clawing into his hair.

"Eri – " _what do I call him?_ "Please, stop – " Christine gently untangled Erik's fingers from his hair and brought them down to hold in her own small ones. "Shh, it's alright, you're okay. We'll figure this out…"

* * *

'Erik' felt like he was going insane. He felt like he had two lives pouring into his brain at once and he felt like would die.

He was Raoul. That was the only explanation for the abhorrent amount of memories assaulting him. But at the same time, his memories as the man he had thought he was remained and felt almost real, almost whole, almost, almost…

 _Saying goodbye to Christine, love letters read in filthy trenches, first kisses and a red scarf, and a different father, but no less abusive. A huge old house and fear, he remembered pain, doctors, needles and syringes, and not being allowed to eat, and darkness and piano wire with weights on the end, and a different man, an older version of himself, with blond hair and a strong brow calling him a sparrow…He remembered being promoted and having blond hair and a mustache…_

He whined pathetically and tugged on his hair, as if the pain of doing so would halt the memories.

Even as Christine brought his hands into her own, whines, sobs, and gasps emitted from the man. Despite how overwhelmed and frightened he was, his hands in hers comforted him as did her voice, and he eventually quieted to small sobs and whispers.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't know, they gave me no choice… _Christine_ …"

Christine grimaced as she heard her fiancé's intonation in the spy's voice, but his words caught her attention. "It's alright," _was it?_ "It's okay. I'm right here, I'll be right back." She pried her hands as gently as she could from her patient's, and pulled the curtain around the bed for privacy. While patients having flashbacks or panic attacks weren't uncommon in the hospital, she could tell that the other nurses were starting to stare, and aside from that, Christine needed as much privacy as possible. To hell with her orders. She _had_ to know who the man in front of her was.

The moment Christine sat down, the spy grabbed her hands again, as if they were a lifeline. As long as he had her hands, he was calmer. After a few minutes, she spoke. "Erik, I need you to roll over on your side. I'm not going to hurt you, I just need to check something. Can you do that for me?"

Erik nodded, and rolled to his side, his back facing Christine.

The nurse lifted his shirt to expose his back. The side of his back had a white patchy scar, as if badly scraped skin had healed years ago.

 _"_ _I fell out of tree a last year…father was so angry with me…but I got a cool scar, look!" "Do you still have that scar from when you fell out of the tree, Raoul…?"_

"Oh my god…" Christine muttered. She quickly pulled down the shirt. Her bluntness returned. "Speak quietly. What do you remember? Who gave you no choice? Can you tell me?"

"Officers. Doctors. I was promoted. I was, I was –"

"Do you remember your name?" _Tell me, please God…_

He squeezed his eyes shut.

" _Please…_ " Christine begged, grabbing the spy's hands again.

"You will not believe me, and I don't know what they will do to me – to you – if you know."

Christine squeezed his hand. "I will do everything in my power to help you, I swear it, and I will believe you." She no longer cared what he had done as a spy, she didn't care if he had lied, she didn't even care if what she was doing was treason. She just wanted to know if Raoul was indeed alive.

He barely whispered, almost mouthed the words "Infantryman De Chagny, Raoul."

Christine closed her eyes and squeezed the man's hands, and she knew what she had to do. "I believe you."

"Oh God Christine…"

"We have to get you out of here."


End file.
